


party girls don't get hurt

by Tamari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Chronicles - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, F/M, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/pseuds/Tamari
Summary: Caelum and Harry get drunk and blow up a cauldron. Or two.
Relationships: Caelum Lestrange/Harriet Potter | Rigel Black
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	party girls don't get hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This is so silly and out of character and I make no apologies. It is what it is.

Harry has her doubts about Caelum Lestrange’s long, apologetic letter and his offer to make it up to her by treating her to dinner at an actual fish restaurant down Aroma Alley. She accepts the offer, anyway. She's fresh off house arrest; anywhere is better than the same view of Potter Place.

Or so she thinks, before she's sitting across from Caelum in awkward silence. He does not seem to want to talk about the apology letter. But she doesn't want to talk about Potions, nor after what had caused their fight in the first place.

"I guess they've all been grilling you about that imposter," Caelum ventures.

She grimaces. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“What, then?”

Harry casts her gaze around the restaurant. “Um. Renaldo Casillas,” she invents.

“That arse is here?”

“No, but I was just thinking about our internship. He  _ was _ an arse, wasn’t he?”

Caelum snorts. “Anyone can be an arse. His fatal flaw was being unbearably stupid. Who thinks extending the shelf life of the Draught of Peace is a worthwhile topic?”

“I wonder what he’s up to now.”

“I saw him in the Guild. He’s even more insufferable as an apprentice. Going to be the most boring Master ever.” 

She laughs. Even if they can't talk about the apology, or Rigel Black, they can at least trash-talk Renaldo.

They order food off the menu. Every entree is a fraction of the price of La Serene. Harry wonders about Caelum's motives for choosing this restaurant, where he might be seen somewhere not obnoxiously pretentious.

"Did you want drinks?" asks the waiter, and Harry seriously considers it.

She’s feeling tired; she’s feeling caged; she’s feeling  _ reckless _ . She thinks about that night in the Hogwarts kitchens, drinking with her friends, who had promised to stand by her no matter what. Now she feels sick, too. 

Rosier would say that she needed to relax. Let it all go. She has to forget about stiff, contained Rigel Black.

Harry looks at Caelum, then back to the waiter. “Yes, actually,” she says decidedly. “A bottle of firewhiskey for the table, please. Two glasses.”

Caelum’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is Miss Perfect going to drink with me?”

Harry shrugs. “I’ve had a hard year. I think I deserve this. A celebration.”

“A celebration of what? Not dying?”

“ _ Yes,  _ exactly,” she agrees. “I'm still alive. It's a miracle. You didn’t cast your wine-vanishing spell yet, did you?”

He smirks. “Jealous of my magical capabilities?”

“Oh, please, I figured it out ages ago. But I didn’t order firewhiskey for the taste. What do you say, Caelum? Let’s get sloshed and forget this year ever happened.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and they do.

-:-

By the time the restaurant is set to close, Harry and Caelum are sitting on the same side of the table, eating chips. There is an empty bottle of Firewhiskey next to their plate. They are both quite drunk. 

“And then I said, the scales suit you!” Harry recounts through laughter.

“Never knew you were a prankster. Like your family.”

“Not like my family. I'm not creative.”

“You invented a new method. For brewing. That’s fucking creative." Caelum waves a chip at her emphatically.

“Potions is different.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Caelum says. There’s a long pause before he rephrases. “I don’t have any friends who are into Potions, I mean.”

“Me neither,” says Harry. “Except you.”

“Except you.”

They stare at each other. Caelum is looking at her mouth. Harry is distracted by the brightness of Caelum’s blue eyes, and doesn’t notice.

“Let’s brew a potion,” Harry declares.

“Now?”

“Of course, now!” Harry jumps up from the table. This is a mistake, as it makes the room whirl around her. She grabs onto Caelum’s shoulder and keeps her balance.

Caelum stands up, too, depriving her of her handhold. He slaps some Sickles on the table. “Can’t go to the Guild. We smell too much like alcohol. And fatty foods. I don’t want them to know I eat carbs.”

“I know a place. Come on. Potions await!” Harry grabs Caelum’s hand and together, they make their drunk, stumbling way to Dogwood Lane. 

(They stumble down at least four wrong alleys, first, but they get there in the end.)

-:-

In her apartment, Harry and Caelum flop down on the floor and gather their bearings. Well, Harry flops on the floor. Caelum tries for a more dignified descent, with limited success. She giggles. She likes Caelum a lot more when he’s drunk. Or maybe it’s because  _ she _ is.

“What should we brew?” he asks.

“Felix Felicis,” she suggests. “I need it.”

“To get lucky? Scan-dlous, brat.” Caelum snorts, which turns into a full laugh. 

They both laugh for way longer than the joke calls for. She rolls onto her side and blinks at Caelum. He has a beautiful face. This is not new information.

“Doesn’t Felix Felicis take months to brew?” he points out.

Harry sighs, and looks away from his pretty face. “Whatever. Let’s make an Elixir to Induce Euph— euph — happiness.”

“Do you need any more happiness?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“More happiness is always needed,” she says glibly.

It’s not a good idea for two drunk teenagers to pick up knives and chop ingredients, but that’s what they do. Caelum has enough muscle memory that he doesn’t miss. Harry’s fingers are the wrong length, and she does.

“Ow,” she says reflexively. “That wasn’t a root.”

“Shit, Potter! Clumsy much?” Caelum drops his own knife and grabs her hand. She’s sliced thinly into her thumb. 

“Not usually,” Harry says. She frowns at the cut, and her magic takes the initiative to Heal it.

“You make that look easy,” Caelum complains.

“It is easy.”

“Everything’s easy for you.”

Harry scoffs and looks pointedly around the apartment. “You called me 'homeless'. Does that sound easy?"

She was never homeless, so she feels a bit bad about lying. But she hasn't had a home lately, either. A place without lies. A place without fear.

"I forgot," Caelum says, grimacing. "New plan. I use the knife and anything that takes coord-nation. You can drop things in and use your crazy amount of magic on the potion."

"My magic says thanks." Harry rolls her eyes, which makes her a little dizzy.

"Your hand should say thanks."

"My hand can't talk."

Caelum shoots her a weird look. "But your magic can?"

"Long story," Harry says, and shoos him over to the cauldron.

-:-

Caelum is too drunk to remember he's already added the bulbadox powder. The cauldron explodes. Boom. Harry's magic shields them from the shrapnel.

"Oops," Harry says. 

Caelum is staring at the cauldron in disbelief. "I haven't blown up a cauldron in… years."

"Clearly you aren't doing enough exper-ments, then," Harry says, tapping her temple. 

"I  _ am _ ," he insists.

Harry doesn't argue. She gets a spare cauldron from the bedroom. Caelum does not inquire about why she keeps a spare cauldron in the bedroom instead of, say, clothing. Or blankets. He knows her too well.

-:-

Take two goes better, and the cauldron is happily simmering away over the fire.

Caelum has started blinking long, slow blinks, like he's struggling to keep his eyes open. Neither of them have thrown up, which is an achievement in itself. They make a cozy nest in front of the fireplace, from the couch cushions and Caelum's robes, and huddle together. For warmth. In the summer.

"It's perfect, 'cause I'm a bird!" Harry says, burrowing into the cushion nest.

"How are you a bird?" Caelum does not know about the whole Animagus thing.

Harry remembers this is still supposed to be a secret. "I am… flighty?" she tries. "I… mate for life?"

"Those are two opposite things."

"Forget about the birds," Harry dismisses. 

"Now the birds are all I can think about. Do you have talons?"

She twists her hand into a claw and jabs it at him. "Caw, caw."

He pushes her hand away, laughing. "Crazy halfblood. Fine, do you —" He is struggling not to say  _ lay eggs.  _ "Like to fly?"

"I do," she confesses. "I used to play Quidditch… with my cousin, I mean."

"Me too. At Durmstrang. I was a Beater."

"Same. It's a good stress reliever, to whack giant iron balls at people, isn't it? Even if they miss."

"Mine don't miss," Caelum says.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Beater. Where are your muscles?"

"Hey!" Caelum crosses his arms. "Long sleeves, brat. They're there. Where are yours?"

Harry sits up and takes off her shirt to demonstrate. 

Caelum makes a choking sound and covers his eyes. " _ What _ are you doing?!"

"Relax, you can look. Gods, have you never seen a girl in an undershirt before? Aren't you like nineteen?"

He peers at her through the cracks of his fingers, and slowly lowers his hand. "None of your business." His exposed face is bright red.

"I can look up your birthday in the Book of Gold, you know."

"I meant — never mind!" 

His gaze flickers over her body too obviously, and not just her arm muscles. It gives her a strange little thrill. She could never have done this as Rigel.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Harry teases.

"Please," he blusters. "What's there to look at?" He is still looking.

Their eyes meet, and there's a long silence, punctuated by the quiet simmer of the potion. Harry can feel herself blushing now, too.

“We should snog. Just to see how horrific it would be,” says Caelum, out of the blue.

Harry laughs. "Yeah, horrible."

Caelum leans over and kisses her. He tastes like Firewhiskey. It’s uncoordinated, a bit sloppy. It’s also fucking amazing. 

Harry feels like she's swallowed a whole jar of Fizzing Whisbees. Her heart is pounding, and her head is spinning even more than it already was. It’s easy to forget, when he’s kissing her like this: forget her horrible year, forget the ruse, forget everything. Getting drunk was her best idea yet.

There is a loud popping noise. Caelum jumps to his feet like he's been cursed.

Harry waves her hand and extinguishes the fire under the cauldron. She stands and peers into the black sludge boiling at the bottom. Their potion is definitely ruined. Again. Oops.

“You are a much better kisser than Draco,” she informs Caelum, who's still staring mournfully at their ruined potion.

"Excuse me?" 

“O for Outstanding. You pass. Congratulations on your Mastery!” she laughs.

After one last look at the cauldron, Caelum curls back up in their nest and beckons to her. Harry slides down to the ground and into his arms. She fits there perfectly.

“I think you drank too much," he says, choosing to ignore her kissing comparison.

"True," she giggles, "but you’re drunkest.”

“That’s not grammatic-ly correct,” Caelum corrects. “There’s two of us. I’m drunker. More drunk. Est is three.”

“You’re such a snob,” says Harry, running her fingers through his hair.

He smirks. “You like it.”

She must, because she kisses him again. Unfortunately, it's hard for him to smirk when his mouth is otherwise occupied.

And she kisses him again, later, when he finally tells her "I'm sorry" out loud. And again, until they are too tired to kiss anymore.

They fall asleep in their little nest, Harry's head tucked into Caelum's shoulder. It feels like home.

  
  



End file.
